


Taxi, please. Anywhere out of this hellhole.

by Oliphaunt1089



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint is retired, Kidnapping, May knows about Spider-Man, Ned is a good friend, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter is hurt, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, also a touch of torture, but he can't always be there, but somehow ended up in this story anyway, like the unnecessarily evil kind, prolonged angst, super healing doesn't solve everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-30 23:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12119238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliphaunt1089/pseuds/Oliphaunt1089
Summary: The guy in the chair was meant to be the safe job. Peter never intended to put Ned in danger. Still, if he's going to die, at least his best friend is here with him.





	1. This was supposed to be his night off

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this at all was an impromptu decision. I'm a sucker for torturing my favourite characters. Also, I'm British so forgive any un-American words or phrasing, and perhaps point them out in the comments?

Peter whistled through his teeth. It wasn't every day that a villain of this magnitude visited his neck of the woods. Stuff like this happened rarely, like, only once a month. Well, occasionally twice. Once a week at most. He sighed. Queens had never been this dangerous _before_ he'd put on the red suit. Did superheroes really attract supervillains?

He voiced his thoughts to Ned.

"Correlation doesn't equal causation," the voice of his friend crackled back over the system they had rigged up from two National Geographic walkie-talkies Peter had found in a cardboard box at the back of his cupboard last week. This was their first test-run with it. "Uh, hey, you might not want to use anything flammable. The news says the top floors are filling with gas."

"I've got to get the people out of there! If the fire climbs any higher, the whole thing's gonna blow!"

Giving up on trying to spot the culprit, Peter swung down from his perch atop the adjacent block and smashed through a high window. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a group of men who did not look like office people climb into the back of a yellow taxi and drive away, but he ignored the incident, since nothing but instinct told him it was suspicious. Instead, he focused on the task at hand.

He had landed in an open office, surrounded by suit-clad men and women who had descended into a unanimous state of panic. Even through the spider suit the smell of gas was almost choking.

"Everyone calm down!" he said, raising his voice and climbing on a table. Only a few people seemed to have heard him, though many eyes were fixed on him. Looking around and trying to _think,_ he yelled, "QUIET!"

Silence fell over the room. Some of the tension inside of him was released. Peter wracked his brains for a way to get several hundred people off the various floors of the office block before it all exploded. There was no way he could get them out himself.

"Karen, can I make my webs un-sticky enough for people to walk over them?"

"Do you wish to build a rope bridge?"

"A rope bridge! Yes, that's exactly what I need!"

Relief washed through Peter, as his display indicated that rope bridge settings were activated. Wasting no time, he shot webs across to the next building, where an open window showed curious and frightened faces peering out at the scene. It was no different to a treetop adventure course, except they were about five times higher, and there was no harness. Still, he hoped the businesspeople would see that it was this or death.

"You have to get to the other building! Be quick but careful, the web will hold your weight but if this building blows it'll all collapse!"

Without waiting for the barrage of protests and clamours of terror that would undoubtedly follow, Peter swung around the outside of the building to the next window and trusted that the sensible ones among them would guide the rest to safety. In the distance, the sound of helicopters could be heard.

Eighteen more offices and apartments were emptied this way, though Spiderman offered no assistance in the actual evacuation but only in providing the escape route. Helicopters had arrived and were hauling citizens up on ladders when the building gave a shudder, then fire exploded from floor to floor, severing the bridges and raising screams from the people still trying to cross. Quicker than he had ever moved before, Peter swung around the building, shooting webs to stick people's hands to the bridges he had built. They would be left hanging off the side of a building but they would not fall.

He was painfully aware that he had not reached all the floors.

As the last floor exploded, he backflipped just in time and caught the outwards burst of energy which sent him shooting all the way to the nearest roof. Shards of building rained down on the people below, who scattered, some of them still streaming out of the front doors.

"That was so cool, dude!" Ned exclaimed in his ear. "You saved, like, all those people!"

Peter shook his head, trying to clear his head and not breathe in the smoke. "It wasn't enough. Whoever did this is still out there, and hundreds of people still died."

"Not hundreds," refuted Ned, "they're guessing about thirty on the news. The last floors were mostly empty."

"That's too many," Peter sighed. "Don't wait up for me. I'm going to help clear the mess, rescue the people I left hanging. Can you tell May that I'll be late for dinner?"

"Sure, I'll do that. But hey, don't blame yourself for this. Without you it could have been a lot worse."

"I have to agree," piped up the unexpected voice of Karen.

"Shut up," Peter mumbled, then swung back down into the fray, feeling slightly better than before, but still terrible.

School was a sombre affair the next day. Most people knew someone affected by the fire and explosion, and one kid had even been in the building when it happened. It wouldn't have been so awful if said kid hadn't talked all day about how amazing the Spider-Man had been and how awesome the superhero was. However much praise was inadvertently showered his way, Peter felt he could never deserve it. Who was this hero everyone was talking about? Certainly not someone Peter could ever be. This was a hero who saved people, not one who let people die because he wasn't fast enough.

A text had come in at about 2am from Tony Stark.

_Nice work kid. You saved a lot of people. Sorry I wasn't there._

Peter knew he should be pleased with the message, but it irked him for two reasons. Firstly, the last sentence drew attention to the fact that Stark _should_ have been there - this wasn't the sort of thing he usually ignored. Yes, he was in a different time zone at the moment and dealing with some messed up villain business of his own which had been on almost every news channel, but the complete absence of even a robotic drone grated on Peter's nerves.

Secondly, Peter knew that if he had gone after the culprit instead of sticking to saving people, the text would have been a lot different. It wasn't that he regretted his decision - he wouldn't have been able to live with himself otherwise - it was just that he could _see_ how Stark was holding him back, discouraging him from taking on bigger challenges, and generally underestimating his abilities. He had tried to keep his secret from Aunt May so she wouldn't worry, but now he felt like he had not one but two overprotective surrogate parents on his back.

The only one who could cheer him up was Ned.

"Hey Peter, guess what arrived this morning?"

"What?"

"Guess."

Peter sighed.

"Fine, I'll tell you!" Ned gave in, seeing the gloom that hung around his friend like a cloud. "I got another Lego set."

That was enough to almost get Peter smiling. "Another?! Already? Man, how much did that cost?"

"It was worth it though."

"You didn't even answer the question!"

"You'll come round tonight to build it?"

"Sure, which one is it?"

"Shield generator on Endor."

"Not a starship this time?"

"You know I have them all. I have three Imperial Star Destroyers, I figured it was time for a change. Also, it'll go with the Death Star."

They were both grinning by this time. It was hard not to when you had Lego to look forward to. A small part of Peter quivered at the thought of leaving the streets unprotected for a night, but the rest of him wasn't ready to face being Spider-Man again. Besides, after yesterday the police were going to be on high alert. What could happen if he took the night off? 

Several hours later they burst out of school together and started off in the direction of Ned's house. About half way there, Peter stopped and cursed.

"I forgot, Aunt May wanted me to buy dinner on the way home. She's working late and I was going to make pasta. If she gets home and there's no food in the house then she'll be so mad. I texted her earlier but I don't think she's looked at her phone."

"Can't you just buy a ready meal and leave it in the kitchen?"

"I'd better. Wait here, I'll be ten minutes max."

Ned leaned against the wall, trying to look casual, and Peter sprinted back the way they came. He had barely turned the corner when he heard Ned utter an indignant "Hey!" followed by the slam of a car door. Skidding to a halt, he dashed back to the road where he'd left Ned and looked down it. Ned was gone, but a yellow taxi had just taken off from the kerb where his friend had stood.

There was no time to change into the spider suit, but Peter hardly cared who saw him as he sprinted after the taxi. It had a long head start, but the road curved and Peter took a shortcut between two blocks and came out almost on top of it. In the meantime he had fetched one web-slinger from his backpack and strapped it on underneath the sleeve of his hoodie.

The light turned red in front of the taxi but it payed no heed, skidding between two other cars and making a sharp turn away from Peter. Taking his only chance, Peter ran up the back of one car and flew through the air, landing hard on the roof of the yellow taxi. It was ages since he had done any of this stuff without the suit, and it almost surprised him that his fingers clung to the car just as effectively as before. His shoes struggled for purchase, but in the knowledge that he was about to kick through a few windows, he kept them on his feet.

In a defiant attempt, the driver swung to the left across the oncoming traffic and almost hit the corner of a building as it rattled down an alleyway. Sirens blared in the distance. Peter swung his legs around and smashed his feet into the front windscreen. It didn't even dent. Again and again he tried, but nothing would harm the glass, and nothing would faze the driver. About halfway down the alley, there was a gap between buildings and, in the impossibly narrow space, the car turned and entered down a slope into a low tunnel which forced Peter to cling onto the back of the car rather than sit on the roof. Even in the darkness, he thought he could see the top of Ned's head slumped against the back seat.

The tunnel wound down and down, and Peter wondered at what point they would have no more phone signal. He wondered if he had the strength to stop the car. Probably not, with a driver ready to slam on the acceleration at the first sign of resistance. He grabbed his second web-shooter.

At long last, they entered into a hall which resembled a multi-storey car park, except that this was lit with dim electric lights instead of windows, and was who-knows-how-far underground.

Also, this was filled with men carrying weapons. The sort of weapons that Peter had seen before, and had hoped to never see again.

He knew he had to act fast. As long as Ned was in the car, he was relatively safe from the action, but as soon as the men saw Peter they would fire, he had no doubt.

This was fine. He only had to beat six large men with extraterrestrial weapons single handedly without even the help of Karen. Oh, and give his identity away. Yeah, he was totally fine.

As the back of the car passed the first two men, Peter shot webs from each hand in opposite directions and yanked the weapons out of their hands. The guns collided mid-air and went up in an explosion that deafened him completely, leaving only a ringing in his ears. As that happened he flipped off the back of the truck and over the explosion so that he had some temporary cover among the smoke. The two men recently deprived of their weapons were still reeling, so he webbed their feet to the ground where they stood before kicking his shoes off in one fluid movement, hitting two more men in the face, and jumping to the ceiling where his hands and bare toes stuck.

With the element of surprise, he scuttled over the oblivious heads just as one of the men aimed his weapon through the smoke and fired, no doubt hoping to hit an unseen foe, but the blast of force did nothing but clear the smoke and make it obvious that there was no one behind it.

That was Peter's cue to move. He dropped down behind the man and knocked him on the head, causing him to crumple instantly. Three down. Dodging the fire of the remaining three men, he rolled between two of them and swept their feet out from under them. One dropped his weapon, but the other fired so fast that Peter almost didn't dive out of the way in time. Webbing the one with no gun to make sure he didn't get up, Spider-Man ducked and kicked the side of the only man yet to fall, but the previous one was getting up and this time he didn't fire, but lunged at Peter and bore him to the ground.

Peter's head struck the concrete with such force that for a moment his vision swam and he could barely comprehend the world around him, his ears still recovering from the explosion. He was just in time to dodge a blow to his face, followed swiftly by another, before his muscles coiled and he struck out with his legs, not at the man pinning his arms and attempting to punch him but at the other one standing behind him.

The blow hit its mark. The second man doubled over in pain, holding his crotch, and it provided all the distraction Peter needed to get out of this situation. Twisting his arms away, he punched the man above him so hard in the face that he reeled back and slumped unconscious, which left only the man he had kicked in the balls. With almost too much ease he drove his knee into the man's nose, and he slumped as well, a trickle of blood running down his face.

If his hearing had been intact, perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps he would have heard the gentle click of the car door, or the almost silent tread behind him. Perhaps he would have heard the whir of a modified alien weapon. As it was, his spider senses warned him too late.

Peter gasped as an invisible force lifted him off the floor, trapping him mid-air. It was all he could do to remember to relax as he was thrown against a pillar hard enough to break bones. He cried out at the impact, slumping to the floor and only getting a brief glimpse of his attacker before he was once again hurtling across the cavernous lair.

He had forgotten the taxi driver.

The next impact was just as jarring as the first, and left him gasping for breath. He could feel bruises that would take days to heal, even with his accelerated recovery.

There was no pause for respite. The ceiling descended towards him just as quickly as the river had, when Tony Stark had flown to his rescue. _Tony. Where was he? Did the tracking device not work when the suit was off?_

The floor was just as painful at the ceiling.

His main concern was protecting his head. If he knocked himself out, he lost this fight.

Had he already lost?

No, he decided, as his shoulder bit concrete once again. He would figure out how to break free of this...this...whatever this was. Freeze ray? Tractor beam? In any other circumstances he would have found it absolutely awesome.

The next throw was not so lucky for Peter. Instead of hitting the pillar head on, his left shoulder clipped the side at a velocity that would probably be deadly in a car crash. His already-torn T-shirt ripped at the seam and he felt the muscles around his shoulder contort as his arm was yanked from its socket.

Dizzying pain washed over Peter as he clattered to the ground in a jumble of limbs, a hoarse cry emptying his lungs. His left arm hung limply at his side, but he scrambled to his feet while aching from head to toe, stumbled, regained his balance, and glared at the taxi driver with enough force to make any sane person back away.

The taxi driver took a step towards the young superhero who stood there, wounded but unbeaten, unwilling to back down. Spiders were harder to squish than she'd first anticipated. Still, this one was crippled and would soon be in her grasp.

Peter tensed and prepared to leap as the taxi driver raised the force-gun (freeze ray? tractor beam?) again, but before either of them could do anything there was a clatter behind the taxi driver and as the villain turned, a 284 page hard-backed history textbook came arching through the air and hit her square in the face.

The force of the blow was enough to send the woman stumbling backwards and dropping the gun she held in favour of clutching her broken nose, which spurted blood between her fingers. In the spot where she had stood was Ned, the textbook in his hands and a startled look on his face, which was swiftly replaced with anger as he took in the state of Peter.

Turning to the taxi driver, whom he presumably recognised from his kidnap, Ned advanced with a look so murderous it almost matched the taxi driver's own.

"Look here, villain. You've got no business kidnapping people and beating them up so if you don't let us walk out of here with no further trouble then I'm -”

Peter never got to find out what Ned was going to do, because at that moment his Spidey senses spiked so high that he nearly fell over. He moved a split second before the taxi driver did, barrelling into Ned and knocking him out of the way as the woman's hand reached her pocket and pulled out a gun, firing several shots.

Heart beating faster than it ever did in a normal fight, Peter pulled Ned to his feet with his good arm and together they dashed behind a pillar to the sounds of bullets ricocheting off the concrete behind them.

"Stay here," Peter hissed once the gunshot sounds had ceased. He risked sticking his head round the pillar and almost received a bullet in the face for his troubles.

"No way!" Ned hissed back. "You can't fight her alone! Look at your arm!"

Peter winced. He didn't need to look at his arm, he could feel it well enough. However, something ought to be done about it.

Clenching his teeth, he grasped his left elbow in his right hand and, once he thought he had found the right spot, pushed upwards hard. Bone grated against bone, and it was all he could do to contain a scream, before there was a satisfying pop and his arms were once again the same length.

Ned gawked, and Peter shrugged. "Happened to me once before. Someone else put it back in that time, but I remembered how they did it." Gingerly he tested out the range of his arm, which was still painful but much less so than before. Unfortunately, he could not raise it above chest height. Still, better than having it dangling useless by his side.

"Okay, stay here," Spider-Man whispered again, then before his best friend could protest, slipped around the pillar and launched himself back into the fight.

Bullets whistled inches from his skin as Peter dived, rolled and came up to the side of the taxi driver. Almost too fast for the eye to follow, he grabbed the woman's wrist, sidestepped, and threw her to the ground in a move he'd learned from a YouTube video. With no use for the gun that was now in his hand, Peter casually bent it in half and heard a quiet "wow" from where Ned sheltered behind the pillar.

"You'll have to try harder than that to beat me," sneered the woman on the ground, and Peter noticed with trepidation that she almost seemed gleeful. "A web built to catch a spider is not easy to make, but even harder to escape."

It was then that Ned called out, emerging from his hiding spot, even before Peter's spidey senses spiked with warning, "The gun! Get the gun!"

The force-gun, dropped and forgotten only seconds ago, was inches from the taxi driver's fingers. As the woman rolled over to reach it, Peter was on her back in a flash, hands round her throat, but was too late to stop her from firing.

Ned let out a yell worthy of a sci-fi movie as he was hurtled towards the back wall of the cave.

"NED!" Peter yelled instinctively, helpless as his best friend hit the stone and crumpled, unmoving.

Red flashed across Spiderman's vision and he twisted viciously, rolling his enemy over and knocking the force-gun out of her hand so hard that it skidded across the room and under the car. The taxi driver sputtered, her face gradually changing shade as Peter cut off her windpipe. So full of rage, he barely noticed the woman going for her pocket with one fumbling hand.

Just as he was sure she was about to die, there was a yell from the other side of the hall.

"No, don't kill her!"

"Ned!" exclaimed Peter in relief, his concentration wavering momentarily as he looked across to see Ned on his feet again and running towards them. The joy that his friend was alive overwhelmed everything else for a moment, and that was all his opponent needed.

With sudden strength, the blue and purple woman drove a small but wicked looking knife upwards into Peter's arm, where it buried itself hilt-deep. Peter yelled in surprise and pain, and in his moment of weakness, fell backwards as the woman shoved him hard in the chest and rolled away.

"Shit!" pronounced Ned, and Peter couldn't help but agree.

Clutching his arm as rivulets of blood streamed down it from the small but deep wound where the weapon was still lodged, Spiderman staggered for only a second before yanking the knife out and, with superb speed, launched it back at his assailant.

He figured it would be the same as shooting webs, which he had practised almost to perfection. In reality, it was closer to ball sports, something which he'd never put much effort into, and while the knife came close to its target, the woman stepped aside with ease.

"Peter?" Ned began in a voice that immediately had him on high alert, "uh, the guys over there? They're getting up."

Ned was right. Two of the men Peter had brought down earlier were getting to their feet, one having woken up with a pounding headache and possible concussion, the other having managed to reach a knife and cut himself free of the webs that imprisoned him. The first, Peter figured, was probably no threat. The second, on the other hand, had just pulled out one of those shockwave guns and was aiming it straight at him.

He had to act fast. There were three opponents to beat, possibly more soon, and to top matters off, Ned was in a perfect position to be caught in the crossfire. The only option he could see was to draw them away.

Since there were two guys on one side and only one on the other, Peter opted to swing towards the two guys first. The one with the weapon fired it, and almost hit his target, but Spiderman was quicker and swung in a tight circle, delivering a dastardly kick to the side of the man's head. The other guy then took a swipe at him with a fist, but Peter shot a web to the ceiling with his other hand to swing out of range and -

fell to the floor, pain lancing up his shoulder which had been dislocated and hastily fixed moments before. Emergency instincts took over and he rolled out of the way, just in time to dodge a single bullet that preceded a series of clicking sounds and a heavy curse. Peter had a moment of relief: the taxi driver had run out of ammo. This was his chance.

Rolling to his feet he observed the woman crouching down as if to do up her shoelace. What? A moment of confusion passed before Peter was forced to turn and web up the man behind him, who after failing to punch him had snuck up and tried again. A worrying beep told Peter that his web shooters were running low on fluid. Oh well. Hopefully they wouldn't have to last much longer.

He was just turning back around when the taxi driver rose to her feet. Ned had almost backed away to a pillar, but a quick flick of the eyes told Peter that Spiderman wasn't the next target.

He didn't remember starting to run, only that one moment he saw the course of events as it was about to unfold, and the next he was moving as fast as his legs would carry him across the too-large underground chasm. As the metal ball rolled towards Ned, both of them saw the flash of purple light from within and knew exactly what they were up against. Peter also knew that Ned was too close, which meant he only had seconds.

With a leap that any ordinary human would find impossible, Peter flew across the empty space towards the plum-sized metal ball and, in a move that any soccer player would be jealous of, kicked it into the air away from Ned.

Time seemed to freeze in that split second that the sphere left contact with his foot.

Then, the world exploded.

Various things seemed to happen after that. He was lying down, hands were on his chest, which _really hurt,_ he could barely breathe, someone was calling his name. His leg was on fire, and he vaguely felt someone holding his hand - or using his web shooters? Was someone stealing his web-shooters? The pain from his leg was too much. He couldn't concentrate on anything else. Nausea washed through him from head to stomach, and he retched, almost bringing up his lunch, but in the brief moment that he opened his eyes he could see Ned's face, and remembered the time on a school trip where he had thrown up all over Ned's shoes and Ned had seen the sick which made him sick too then three more kids had vomited at the smell and the school bus had to be evacuated and cleaned, all because Peter had had a mild illness that day.

No, he didn't want to vomit right now.

Agony lanced up his leg, and Peter's stomach emptied itself anyway.

His brain was fuzzy. The sick feeling was coupled with a spacey sensation in his head that made him almost feel as if he were floating, but he could feel the cold concrete against his fingers and the back of his skull, so that couldn't be right. It was cold. He was cold. Was he shivering? He thought he might be shivering, but there was sweat beading on his nose and forehead, so why didn't he feel hot?

His leg hurt so bad.

"Peter! PETER! Can you hear me? You have to stay awake! PETER!"

A jolt that sent nausea and more sickening pain through his body seemed to bring Peter abruptly back to reality. He groaned and cracked his eyes open. Every muscle in his body ached, and when he tried to move his arms he found them cuffed together, which only resulted in his shoulder aching more.

"N- Ned?" he croaked out, his voice barely more than a whisper, though the effort felt like he was shouting hard enough to crack his ribcage. Wow, that hurt. A lot.

"Ohmygodpeteryou'realive!" Ned looked ready to kiss him. Peter really hoped he wouldn't.

"Ow," was all he could manage in response, and he thought he sounded pathetically like a kitten. This sucked.

No, it didn't just suck, he realised. This was bad. Really bad. As far as he could tell, they were in the back of a van (where had a van come from?) handcuffed and stripped of their bags, which contained any method someone might have of tracking them down for a rescue.

Who was he kidding. They had been stripped of any method for _Tony Stark_ to track them, because he was the only one who had a chance of saving them now. Except that Tony Stark was currently in Europe. Peter's only plan/hope had been winning the fight and saving Ned, but where were they now? He had failed spectacularly. Peter closed his eyes.

"Nononono, stop that, wake up!" Ned's panicked voice ripped through his weirdly light and throbbing head, and Peter forced himself to open his eyes again to look at his best friend.

"How -" he almost didn't want to know, but, "-How bad is it?"

Ned grimaced. "You probably shouldn't look."

Peter groaned. And shivered. He was still cold.

"But," Ned was hasty to add, "I patched your leg up with a web before they took your web shooters, so you're not bleeding out any more."

Not bleeding out. The only good news was that he wasn't bleeding out. Saying that things were looking dire was an understatement. Sleep was creeping up on him, and black was edging his vision, but he had to stay awake. Ned told him to stay awake. He couldn't go to sleep, he had to...had to stay....awake.....wake...... 

Peter woke to cold water being thrown in his face. He sputtered, his head still fuzzy, and coughed, before pain ricocheted across his ribs and he remembered the series of events that had led him here. Ow. He would have doubled over had he not been tied thoroughly to a chair.

As the pain subsided, his vision blurred into focus and he saw that he was in a small room with no windows - still underground? - dimly lit by a single flashlight hanging from the ceiling. The only other occupant of the room, who now held an empty drinking glass in one hand, was - surprise surprise - the taxi driver. What did this person have against him? Peter's leg twinged as an uncomfortable reminder of what this lady could do.

(And by "twinged", I mean "sent agonising lances of pain up and down Peter's body until he was shivering uncontrollably and almost sick again".)

The only reason he was still upright was the heavy rope binding him which wouldn't let him fall over in a puddle of hurt spider on the floor, which is exactly what he felt like doing. How Incy-Wincy managed to get up and climb that spout a second time he had no idea. That arachnid was an inspiration.

For Peter, the sun hadn't come out yet, and the rain was still falling.

When taxi-driver-woman spoke, it grated on Spiderman's ears like...a cheese grater? Eh, everything hurt too much for him to think of a better simile.

"Listen here, kid. I don't care how old you are. I'm going to lay it out plain and clear, and by the end I hope we understand each other perfectly. This could be a matter of life or death - not for us of course, but for our families. Do you have a family?"

When Peter didn't answer, the woman continued.

"You're too young to have kids, I suppose. Dave, who you gave a nice lump on the head earlier, he's got four kids. Four! All in elementary school. And do you know who packs their lunches and sends them off at eight o'clock every morning? Dave. Do you know why? Because he was the homemaker, who did the washing and mowed the lawn while his wife - his wonderful, beautiful wife, oh you should hear him talk about her - went off to her respectable job which payed the bills, kept them all fed, even kept them happy.

"Then do you know what happened? Perhaps you can guess. She died. And what's Dave to do, with four kids and barely the skills to work in a supermarket? He needs the money. He has nowhere else to turn, nothing else he can do, but he's got to provide for his kids, right?

"And then you show up. Out of nowhere, deals are hijacked, good men with innocent families are sent to hospital and prison or forced to flee to other states or countries, just because of some teenager in a mask. You're causing more trouble than you're preventing, and for the sake of all the people like Dave out there, I'm here to put an end to it.

"Still, I don't want to kill you if I don't have to." The woman leaned forward, elbows on knees and fingertips pressed together. "There are kids younger than you whose lives are at risk, so I'd not hesitate to put a bullet through your brain if it was the only way to save them, but I only want to get rid of Spiderman, not...what did he call you? Pete? Peter? And there are ways to destroy one but not the other. You must be smart to go to that school, so how do you feel about life in a wheelchair? You'd still be able to do your normal stuff, but me and the guys would be left in peace."

"You'll never be left in peace," Peter ground out between his teeth, anger and panic stirring inside in equal measure. "If you do anything to me, the Avengers won't stop until your head is on a spike."

It may have been a little exaggeration, but it brought some satisfaction. That was, until the woman smiled. It wasn't innocent, but it was certainly genuine.

"Ah yes. Thank you for reminding me. The Avengers. Now, you're going to tell me exactly what I want to know, or else that leg of yours will be the least of your problems."

So that was it. That was why he wasn't dead already. Well, Peter may have been a teenager, hurt and kidnapped and tied to a chair, but even if he hadn't been a superhero he was loyal to his friends. Perhaps it just came of not having many, or perhaps it was a glimpse the genuinely good person inside which was the reason he risked his life day after day to protect people he didn't even know. Either way, there was no torture on Earth that could convince him to give away the Avengers' secrets.

His lips utterly sealed, he stared down the person he currently hated most in the world.

The first blow was across the cheekbone, hard enough to split the skin.

This was going to hurt. 

May was tired. She had just worked a double shift, and to top it all off, Peter had completely forgotten about getting dinner tonight and gone to Ned's. The last text from him had been hours ago, but she hadn't been able to check her phone until now. Pausing in the lobby, she sighed and dialled his number. If she was the one getting food on her way home she'd better check if he wanted any.

Ned was scared. He'd never been this scared, not even on elementary school residential when he'd been forced to do that zipline. Not even when he'd been in that lift with the decathlon team, falling to their potential doom before Spiderman showed up. Not even the last time Peter had been in a fight that looked too big for him to handle. Those times, Ned had known that someone was watching, that someone else was as scared as he was.

This time, it was just him and Peter.

And right now, it was just him.

After his friend had passed out in the back of the van, Ned had yelled his name until his voice was hoarse, but to no avail. Peter had been pale as death, his skin clammy, his right leg lying at an unnatural angle with the shattered shin bones peeking through a gaping, bloody hole in the skin. Ned had webbed that up to stop the bleeding, so it didn't look so bad, but he still couldn't stop looking at it and thinking _this is my fault._

This was all his fault.

Peter was going to die because of him.

 _Unless..._ Ned had a piece of hope that only he knew about; when he had finally woken up in the back of that taxi, shortly before joining the fight outside, he had slipped the phone from his back pocket down between the seats in the back of the car. No one was likely to look there, but if someone - anyone - noticed they were missing, Ned hoped Mr Stark would have the sense to track his phone as well as Peter's. He silently thanked Peter for that bit of genius.

Now, however, he was sat alone in a tiny, damp, dark cell which reminded him of something out of a video game. There were even iron bars across the front, barring his exit, and the only illumination came from the dim, crackling ceiling lights which stretched along the hallway and looked like something nicked out of a struggling school.

Peter had been dragged off to who-knows-where, who-knows-how-many-hours-ago. Ned could still feel the sting of his cheek, a reward for trying to stop them taking his friend. He felt exhausted, ready for this ordeal to end and to curl up in his own bed at home with the knowledge that Peter was doing the same at the other end of the text messages. Why couldn't he just click his fingers and make it so all of this never happened? Instead, he was frightened, Peter was on the verge of death _oh god what if he's dead already_ and there was no way out. 

Tony Stark wasn't ready to be called at four o'clock in the morning. He certainly wasn't ready to be shouted at. When he'd picked up the phone, which was calling directly from F.R.I.D.A.Y, he'd expected Banner or Natasha or someone, not Peter's Aunt in hysterics.

On the other hand, this seemed serious.

"Look, I'm in Europe right now, but I'll send in a suit. Yeah, there's some shit going on at my end too otherwise I'd be there personally. Yeah, yeah. Peter's a smart kid, and I'm sure Ned has his back. Look, feel free to stay there overnight. Seems someone already invited you in."

 _"Well what else was I meant to do?"_ came Hawkeye's voice from somewhere off camera.

"Yeah. Right. What's Ned's mobile? Okay. Good. I'll find them, don't worry."

With that he ended the call. Dammit. Now Peter was getting into trouble even _without_ the suit on. If someone had discovered his secret identity, then time was running out. Fingers moving at lightning speed, Tony set up his laptop to track both boys' phones plus the suit. A map popped up on the screen, but to his worry, not a single tracking dot showed up. Tony cursed and leaned back, begging for patience.

Suddenly, a single dot appeared on the map, still in Queens. Ned's phone. How had it just appeared? It was time to investigate, and Tony would leave no stone unturned until he had Peter back. 

About half way through his "interview", when Peter could no longer feel most of his face and his entire being seemed to be one never-ending haze of pain, he felt something warm trickle down his ankle and knew his time was up. The web holding the blood inside his leg had finally dissolved, and he was bleeding again.

Had he been thinking more clearly, part of him might have hoped that his healing factor would fix the wound enough that he wouldn't have a growing puddle of blood at his feet, but as it was, the thought didn't even occur to him. While his shoulder, dislocated mere hours before, now only ached about as much as the rest of him, his leg was in such bad shape that even expecting the skin to close that fast was asking too much.

He didn't really know what happened for the rest of that time. Everything seemed to get blurry and more distant, and he was cold and nauseous and so, so tired, but the blows that punctuated his hazy thoughts kept him from slipping under again, and the shouting pounded through his head without any real meaning until suddenly, there was a break.

With no actual idea what was happening and too weak to move, protest, or even look around, Peter felt his bonds loosen until he slumped ungraciously off the chair and lay curled up on the floor. He could have stayed there forever but someone had grabbed his wrists and was dragging him like a sack of potatoes down a hallway where the dim lights glared at him angrily and the floor kept spinning around and hitting him from different angles. Eventually there was a clang that resonated through his skull for a full minute afterwards, and then he was tumbling across a small space and lying, completely still, cheek against stone and wishing he could dissolve into oblivion.

A barking voice resonated in the small space and Peter could vaguely understand it: "Keep him alive, the boss wants him speaking by tomorrow. You know what happens once he becomes useless."

There was another clang, followed by a clatter and retreating footsteps. Peter was alone.

Or...not? A soft noise came from somewhere above his head, something that sounded almost like a sob.

 _"Ned?"_ Peter breathed hesitantly. His voice came out as barely a croak.

"Oh my god, Peter, what did they _do_ to you?" That was definitely Ned's voice, "oh god, I don't know what to do, your leg, it's bleeding and I don't have anything to stop it with and you're gonna die and it's all my fault and -" he cut off with another anguished sniff.

At the last part, something inside Peter clicked, and some part of his brain began working again. He'd patched himself up before, and this was worse than it had ever been but this time he also had Ned. He had Ned. Now he just had to think.

He was on his front, and that was cramping his cracked (broken?) ribs and making it difficult to breathe. He needed to roll over. Okay, his arms were working. Good. Even the stab wound from the fight was knitting itself together, though his hoodie was sticky with blood.

"Ned," he croaked again, and immediately his friend was there, ready to listen. "Roll...over. Ribs, I can't..."

In a second, Ned understood, and helped Peter onto his back, where he could breathe more easily. Peter knew that this wasn't the standard medical procedure - the recovery position was the only thing he could remember from their single lesson of first aid training in biology that one time, and this wasn't it - but he figured that this was better, as long as he wasn't choking on blood or anything. Things weren't as bad as they might be.

Then he happened to glance at his leg. And immediately wished he hadn't. Peter was pretty sure the bone was meant to be on the _inside._ Also the blood. It wasn't gushing out as it had been before, but a slow trickle over the course of half his interrogation probably amounted to more blood than a normal person should lose. For that matter, how much _could_ a normal person lose? Was it already too late?

"Ned..." he whimpered, reaching for his friend. Ned grasped his hand tightly, which brought Peter comfort. If he was going to die here, at least he'd be with his best friend. "I'm...cold."

Ned cursed. "Shit, I'm such an idiot. I'm so bad at this. I'm sorry, Peter. I have no idea how to keep someone alive, but I'm going to do everything I can, okay? And maybe we'll be rescued before morning. Someone's definitely missed us by now, and when Tony Stark finds us he can burst in with his iron man suit and blast us out of here."

With a spurt of action, Ned shrugged off his hoodie and tucked it like a blanket around Peter. It almost looked like a blanket too on his smaller frame. Then Ned tugged off his shoes and socks, tossing the shoes aside before apologising to Peter. "This is gonna hurt. Also my feet don't have any diseases but they sure smell, I'd have used your socks if you had any on." A second after that, Ned pressed the balled-up socks to Peter's leg where the blood was still dribbling out, and Peter thought he heard someone else yell before white engulfed his vision. 

"Alien technology detected. Multiple explosives rigged to blow. This course of action is not recommended."

"Tell me what else I'm supposed to do. I'm not leaving Peter in there!" Tony was losing patience with his A.I.

"A small drone may be able to pass in undetected."

"I'm not contacting Falcon. No way. How about sticking an engine on that scanner I was working on?"

"Sir, that would require you to be here."

"Not necessarily. Fly the suit back to my lab, call Clint. If he's already part of this then he might as well help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Ok that was a pretty long chapter. The others aren't quite so lengthy, but stay tuned because they're coming soon. Also, let me know what you think?


	2. Could be worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is rushing to the rescue. Europe is a long way away, and Peter doesn't have the wifi password for super secret underground evil prison lair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos give me life, thank you! You are all fabulous! Now enjoy the second instalment of me hurting my favourite characters (doesn't it make you feel warm and fuzzy inside?)  
> (Also I know there is at least one typo in here - the Internet ate it the first time I tried to post this, so I actually had to edit it twice which was a pain, and somewhere I've written "tool" instead of "too" but I can't for the life of me find it again. If you spot any typos, kindly let me know! Thank you!)

The next time Peter drifted back into the world of the waking, he was first aware of something comfortable pillowed under his head, and...well, not quite warmth, but the lack of clammy cold that had been plaguing him ever since the explosion. He almost felt...safe?

He jolted awake. That wasn't right. A smell hit his nose, and he realised the pillow had actually been Ned's arm. His friend was snoring soundly next to him, shivering slightly in his sleep. Why wasn't the guy wasn't wearing a hoodie? Oh...wait. Yeah. Reluctantly, Peter removed Ned's hoodie from his own body and draped it over his friend.

They were still stuck in a cell, who-knows-where, with captors willing to beat them up for information, no foreseeable rescue, and high probability of death as the final outcome. Things weren't looking up.

On the other hand, they were looking less down than they were before. By the clarity of his thoughts, Peter guessed he wasn't bleeding out any more (thanks Ned) and possibly even healing. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it had certainly done him some good. He imagined his super-powered body had used that time to produce blood cells at a rate more rapid than ever before.

And he had a stunning headache.

He hadn't noticed it at first - maybe it wasn't so bad when he was sleeping - but as soon as he tried to raise his head and look around, it felt like someone was pounding on his brain with a sledgehammer.

Water. He needed water. Had someone even thought to give them food and drink?

Pushing himself up painfully on his elbows and listening to the creak of his ribs, Peter looked around the dingy cell. One of the lights right outside had gone out, but there was still enough of a glow to see by, and Peter's enhanced senses made it almost as good as daylight. He tried to avoid looking at his leg, but he glimpsed that Ned had tied the socks in place with a shoelace (A+ for inventive first aid) and saw that his foot still didn't sit at the right angle to the rest of his leg. Fast healing didn't solve everything.

Averting his gaze, his eyes fell on a corner of the cell by the door and he had to blink a few times to check he wasn't hallucinating. Two sports-cap bottles of water and a single plate carrying a couple of plain bread rolls sat innocently on the floor. What? His first thought was a trap, but he quickly put that notion aside. They were already pretty much as trapped as they could get. So. Someone was being nice to them? It seemed absurd, but perhaps not all of these men were monsters. He thought of Dave and his four kids.

Right. So he had to reach the water. That meant _moving._ Okay. _You got this Peter._

As slowly as he could, Peter sat up, ignoring the fact that his vision went temporarily fuzzy as he did so. Once it cleared, he shifted his good leg, and - _ow, ouch, no, not happening._ He lay back down. Apparently even the slightest movement of his broken leg sent it from "sitting on a hedgehog" to "being shot at with a hundred darts a second while repeatedly punched in the gut."

So he'd have to wake Ned. Ugh, he hated being this helpless. Relying on his friend like a whiny child who can't get a glass of water in the middle of the night without waking their parents. Ned looked so soundly asleep, and probably needed it too. Peter's head throbbed. He imagined he could hear a vague humming. Or wait, was that an actual humming sound?

Then, the strangest thing happened, and this time Peter was certain his eyes were deceiving him. A small metal drone hovered about three feet off the ground, just outside their cell, and before he could react, a small camera popped out and scanned them from head to toe. Before it left, a small compartment opened in the top and a rolled up piece of paper was shot out, landing on Peter's chest. Then, it was gone.

Confused but hopeful, Peter unrolled the message.

_Don't worry, backup is coming. T.S._

Peter could have cried with relief. They might just make it out of here after all.

Tony could have turned green and murdered someone when his drone finally reported back.

_"Multiple contusions concentrated in the facial region, dehydration as a result of blood loss followed by accelerated healing, recently dislocated shoulder, minor stab wound to the lower arm, multiple cracked ribs, and a...a badly broken leg, sir."_

"Badly broken? So bad that my A.I. hesitates to describe it, in case I...in case I what? Break down in despair? Blame myself? I created you to be helpful, not try and protect my sensitive soul. Now do your job."

_"Apologies, sir. An analysis of your history showed -"_

"Cut the bullshit, I'm done with you," Tony replied and muted F.R.I.D.A.Y, dialling a number as he did so. "Clint?"

"Tony! What took you so long?"

The man of iron positively growled down the receiver. His first attempt to find Peter had hit a few obstacles. And his second. Basically the first place had been the wrong place and had obliterated the drone when it had lost signal halfway down the tunnel and flown into into a wall, triggering security as it did so.  
Before he could track Ned's phone again, its battery had died and the connection cut, leaving him with half-complete data and a more intelligent drone to program. Which he had built, from scratch, via motion-sensor technology since he was on a plane over the Atlantic and the drone, and Peter, were in New York.

Oh yeah, that was another thing that happened. His meetings for the next day were cancelled, and his private jet was winging its way west. He just hoped that his own personal villains wouldn't take advantage of his absence.

So after the drone was completed, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. had run a series of complex algorithms on street footage of Queens to identify the car carrying Ned's phone, Tony had finally been able to send it to the right place.

It had taken two hours to return. Tony had almost built a replacement for it in that time.

Its excuse was that the tunnels were winding and complex, and the scanners weren't powerful enough to detect the entire route in advance. It had got lost. For two hours.

Still, Tony finally had the data, and the knowledge that Peter and Ned were still alive, which was what mattered.

 _Christ_ he was glad of setting off all those hours ago. He _needed_ to be there.

"Clint, I have the location and Peter's condition. Sending them to you now."

"Okay, got it. You sound a bit crackly, what's going on at your end?"

"Er, mostly ocean, the occasional iceberg. And you?"

"Jesus, you're dumping Europe for this kid? I'd better make sure he's in once piece when you get here."

"You'd better."

With that the call was ended.

Ned woke to incessant poking and a numb feeling in one arm. He hadn't meant to go to sleep.

"Peter, what -" he began groggily, then his eyes flew open. "Peter! You're awake! You're _alive!_ I swear when you passed out I was sure you were going to die, I watched you for _hours_ and I've aged like fifty years, don't you _ever_ do that again, you hear me? I'm going to die of worrying over you." He took a deep breath, then asked, "how do you feel?"

To be honest, his friend didn't look all that much better. His face was just as ashen as before, except where it was darkened with bruises, and his leg was in no better condition. The only thing that had visibly improved was the fact that Peter was awake and poking his shoulder, which Ned hoped was a sign of internal healing and not one of madness.

Instead of answering, Peter passed him a small, rolled up piece of paper, which Ned opened with the hand that wasn't numb from Peter sleeping on top of it.

_Don't worry, backup is coming. T.S._

For the first time since yesterday afternoon, Ned grinned. He could have hugged Peter, but that seemed like a bad idea considering his best friend's injuries. Still, Peter was grinning back as widely as he was.

Of course, Ned was intensely curious about the note, where it had come from, whether there was any indication how _soon_ backup was coming, etcetera, but a more pressing matter suddenly presented itself as his stomach rumbled.

"Hey Peter, any idea whether they feed us in here?"

In answer, Peter pointed to the corner of the cell, where the bread and water sat.

"Water...please..." His voice came out in a hoarse rasp, and it was only then that Ned noticed how sore and chapped Peter's lips were, and how his breathing grated.

"Yeah, yeah of course," Ned replied hurriedly, gently sliding his arm out from beneath Peter's head and going to grab the bread and water. Once he was sat down again he asked, "Can you drink lying down? Or do you want to sit up?"

Peter frowned for a moment, the said, "I'll sit."

Even with Ned's help, sitting up was clearly painful for Peter, but in the end they managed it and Peter downed half a bottle of water before Ned warned him to take it steady - "There aren't any toilet facilities here, remember?"

The bread was stale, but when Peter insisted he didn't want any, Ned polished off both pieces without complaint.

"Ned?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry that I brought you into this."

Ned scowled. "What do you mean?"

"All this...superhero, supervillain stuff. You know. Danger."

"Peter, I wanted to be the guy in the chair. None of this is your fault."

"But I could have kept you out of it. I could have managed without you, and none of this would have happened. They found you as a way of getting to me, and that's not fair on you because I'm the one they want, and -"

"Stop. Peter, stop. Listen. Yeah, I got involved, which put me in danger, and even worse put you in danger. If I'd known that it would lead to this, for your sake I might have stayed away, but Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Aren't we a good team? I've saved your life before, and you know I'm not saying that to brag. Sure, I'm the guy in the chair, but that doesn't matter, because first and foremost I'm your friend, and whether you're wearing the suit or not, I've got your back. I've always got your back. There's no getting rid of me now."

"Ned?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"...at the end of all things."

"That's Lord of the Rings."

"I know."

They sat in silence then, for how long neither could tell but it seemed to stretch on and on. They didn't need to speak, only to know that the other was alive and breathing.

Their silence was interrupted when footsteps echoed down the corridor and in an instant, both teenagers were on high alert, trying to gauge whether it was friend or foe. A second later, a man Ned didn't recognise was turning a key and opening the cell door. A sidelong glance at Peter showed that his friend didn't recognise this man either, and certainly didn't like him.

"You're coming with me," the man growled, but instead of going for Peter, he stepped forward and grabbed Ned's arm in a vice-like grip. Ned twisted around and tried to break free, but his other wrist was grabbed as well and he was pulled backwards out of the cell.

"No! Get off him!" Peter yelled, sitting up in an instant with one good leg tucked under him, ready to spring to his feet even as the remaining blood drained from his face and he clutched at his ribs in pain.

"Don't! I'll be fine, stay there!" Ned yelled back, but before he could even continue to struggle, the grip on his wrists lessened and there was a thud behind him. He turned around to see the man cringing on the floor with an arrow protruding from his side. "What the...?"

Marching forcefully down the corridor towards him was _Hawkeye._ Actual, real live _Hawkeye._ It was all Ned could do not to freak out. And at the other end of the passageway, beating up a series of armed men who came at her from all sides, was Black Widow. This was awesome. Well, somewhat awesome. It would be awesome once they were all safe again.

"You must be Ned," acknowledged Hawkeye, "where's Peter?"

Ned pointed into the cell, dumbstruck.

Hawkeye entered, and seemingly had to unfreeze himself upon seeing Peter. As Ned followed behind, he heard him mutter, "geez, Tony wasn't exaggerating your age."

Then the archer knelt beside Peter and introduced himself as Clint. "We met once before. Your team was beating up my team."

"I thought it was the other way round..." Peter replied with half a smile.

"Well Nat and I are here on Tony's behalf this time, so no more beating each other up. Everything's going to be fine, and we're going to get you out of here. I have first aid training, do you mind if...?" His hand hovered towards Peter's broken leg.

The teenage superhero nodded, but it was accompanied by a shudder.

With deft fingers, Hawkeye - Clint - unwrapped the shoelace-tied socks and managed not to grimace at the sight underneath. Unaffected, he felt around the wound, causing Peter to cringe more and grit his teeth. Eventually Clint sat back.

"Well, it could have been a lot worse. The main danger was blood loss, but that's over now. It doesn't look infected, and the blood to your foot was never cut off, so as far as I can tell it should make a clean recovery, once the doctors set the bone. For now, all I can do is immobilise it so we can get out of here."

The first step was rewrapping the wound with clean bandages, which Peter braved better than Ned even thought was possible for a person whose shin bones were sticking through his skin. Then, from next to the quiver of arrows on his back, Clint pulled out a leg brace which looked like a strange cross between the generic splints people came out of hospital wearing, and the Iron Man suit. Ned didn't need to guess who'd designed it.

Even better, when Clint slid it over Peter's leg and pressed a button, all the pieces slid into place and tightened automatically. Even Peter was too impressed to wince at the movement.

"Right. Are you ready to go? It was too awkward to bring a stretcher, doesn't really do well in the fighting kind of scene, so I'm afraid you'll have to stand, but the report mentioned something about broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, so -"

"I'll be fine," Peter cut in, though Ned thought his expression disagreed with that statement. "Just help me up."

Together they got Peter to his feet (foot) where he swayed, leaning heavily on Ned and somewhat tentatively on Clint, his injured shoulder moving awkwardly and clearly causing him pain, which he chose to keep silent about. Ned was uneasy about this, and tried to support his friend's weight as much as possible without hurting his ribs more.

Black Widow appeared in the doorway, impatience in her eyes, which Ned thought might have softened for a split second when she saw Peter, but he blinked and the moment was gone, leaving him to wonder whether he'd just imagined it.

"We need to go; the way is clear for now but who knows when more will arrive. These guys really don't like losing."

The next second she was off again down the corridor, and, with exhausting effort, the rest of them followed.

Ned vaguely remembered these tunnels from being brought down here, jabbed with weapons from all sides while Peter was unceremoniously dragged along the floor, and they had seemed long then. They seemed even longer now. How Black Widow hadn't got lost already baffled him. Maybe she had, like, secret tunnel senses that told her the way. For that matter, what even were her superpowers? Or was she just, like, super badass?

It was a good job Peter wasn't heavy, because by this point Ned was practically carrying him. At one point he'd even offered a piggy-back, which Peter had immediately refused, insisting that he was fine hobbling along on one foot, even when the exertion had him breathing as if he'd just run a marathon.

"It's not far now. We can hijack a car in the lobby," Clint reassured them, as Ned stumbled slightly and Peter let out a groan of protest.

Still, something was nagging at Ned's mind. Apart from the few people Black Widow had beaten up at the end of that corridor, the passageways were clear of bodies, unconscious or dead, which mean that the two superheroes had made their way though here easily. Too easily. He didn't know what resistance they'd met at the entrance, but the quiet weighed on his mind heavily. It felt too much like Moria before the battle over Balin's tomb. Or Cloud City before Vader appeared.

"I don't like this," he muttered out loud, and to his surprise, it was Black Widow who answered.

"Me neither. Someone's cleared up the mess we made getting in here, which means someone's waiting for us at the other end. We'd better be prepared."

So that was why it was so empty. Ned's gut was churning with anticipation.

After what seemed like miles and miles, the corridor finally turned a corner and ended abruptly at a large set of double doors. No sound came from behind them, but Black Widow and Hawkeye trod silently to either side of them anyway, beckoning Ned and Peter to stay close to the wall. Slowly, Black Widow undid the latch and let the doors swing slowly open.

Nothing.

Hawkeye fitted an arrow to his bow. Stealthily, the four of them walked forward into the room.

It was smaller than the cave where the initial fight had taken place, but it was large nonetheless, resembling a bare sort of garage. Nothing adorned the walls, but three cars were parked there: a beat-up grey car with no registration plate, a black van which Ned recognised coming here in, and finally, the taxi which had started all their problems off.

"If anything happens, get behind the van," Clint warned, giving Ned an uncomfortable feeling that it was going to come to just that.

They were making for the black vehicle, parked at one side of the garage while the cars sat with their backs to the opposite wall. Suddenly, they heard something like a faint cough, and immediately Black Widow swung round and shot through the window of the grey car. The sound of the gunshot was followed by a scream, and Clint looked surprised.

"Nice one."

"They coughed."

"Ah. Well, looks like we've got more company."

Hawkeye was right. Out of the vehicle-sized opening at the other side of the room came six people with guns, dressed head to toe in black gear which also covered their faces.

"Damn. I hate masks," Hawkeye muttered, and Ned felt slightly offended on Peter's behalf but said nothing.

The back of the van opened too and five more spilled out, a couple of them limping, which made Ned wonder if they had already had one run-in with a vigilante. Perhaps they'd be smart enough to flee this time. Unfortunately, it didn't look that way, as they all levelled their guns at the group of four, exposed in the centre of the room.

"On my signal, run," Black Widow hissed at them, and Ned nodded faintly. Peter looked ready to give up any second, but this was life and death. Ned would carry him if he needed to, like Sam and Frodo.

(Except Peter was way too good to be Frodo, and not nearly whiny enough. As for Ned, he couldn't ever imagine himself reaching Sam Gamgee level of amazingness, but it was something to strive for.)

A voice echoed through the hall, and Ned knew it immediately, although he had only heard it a few brief times. Peter cringed at the sound, pressing closer to his friend in evident fear. Ned gripped him tighter.

"Throw down your weapons, and you might just leave here alive," the taxi driver's voice drawled. "It'll be in-a-few-weeks, beaten-up-beyond-repair-having-revealed-all-your-friends'-secrets kind of alive, but it's a better deal than the other suggestion I have for you."

"And I suppose you think we're going to take one of the two options," Clint replied calmly, arrow still on his bow. Had it been up to Ned, he would have surrendered there and then. How were two vigilantes with minimal superpowers supposed to bring down eleven baddies wth guns plus a mysterious woman who beat up Spiderman and didn't even show herself when she spoke?

"Those are the only two options," the voice deadpanned.

"Well, forgive me for disagreeing," said Clint, just as Black Widow mouthed _"now",_ and all hell broke loose.

Hawkeye's arrow flew through the air and stuck one enemy in the chest before the first gunshot even sounded. Black Widow leapt into action and took down two of the guys at once, causing mayhem among the others. Ned tightened his grip around Peter and ran.

It was hard, carrying someone like this while running - and running wasn't Ned's strong suit on the best of days. Bullets whizzed past them, but none of them hit their mark, and after enough stress to last for eternity, Ned and Peter were crouching behind the black van, Peter breathing hard and looking slightly greener than before, and Ned wishing he had a third lung.

"You ok?" he hissed.

Peter just nodded in reply. That was the best he was going to get for now.

The noises of the fight, if anything, seemed louder now that they were sitting still, waiting with bated breath for one side or the other to prevail. There were gunshots, grunts of pain, groans of beaten bad-guys and occasionally Black Widow's war cry, which did nothing to alleviate the fear but actually terrified them more.

Both friends' breathing eventually slowed however, and it was then that Peter managed to speak.

"These guys must be good, they're putting up a long fight."

That didn't reassure Ned in the slightest. Then he realised that he was the one meant to be doing the reassuring.

"Hawkeye and Black Widow are superheroes! And these guys only have guns, this isn't the sort of fight they lose."

"I should be out there, helping. I hate being useless!" The venom in Peter's voice was actually a bit unnerving, but Ned wasn't having any of it.

"This isn't your fight. If Spiderman dies, think of all the people he won't be able to save. You don't even have your web-slingers, so right now you are Peter Parker, completely average schoolkid, allowing yourself and your best friend to be rescued by some pretty dang awesome people. Let them do their job."

"I-" Peter began to answer, but suddenly his eyes went wide and Ned swore all his hair stood on end.

In one fluid movement, Spiderman dived over Ned's head, landed on the other side in a forward roll and came up on one leg just in time to knock a man's gun aside and punch him in the face, sending him reeling back. With a jolt, Ned realised that the man would have killed them, and sprung to his feet as well, grabbing the dropped gun and bashing the man over the head with it, causing him to crumple to the ground.

In another stomach-dropping moment, Ned realised that they were no longer protected by the van. Peter was standing in the same spot where he'd come up, one hand braced on the wall, swaying slightly and clearly out of it, if the unfocused look in his eyes was any indication. This time it was Ned who acted first.

"Peter, duck!"

He was a split second away from barrelling into Peter and lifting him to safety, but it was a split second too late. Ned didn't hear the exact gunshot amid the other sounds of battle, but he saw his friend's legs buckle, saw him fall, saw Peter's hands move to cover up a growing red stain on the side of his hoodie, and heard no cry of pain but only a few weak coughs as Spiderman sank to the ground, dying.

Ned collapsed beside him, covering Peter's hands with his own in a last-ditch attempt to put pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding. _Peter couldn't afford to lose any more blood, not now._

"N-Ned," Peter croaked, and it was more through an effort of lip-reading than of being able to hear the words that Ned was able to understand. "'m's'rry."

"No, nononono dammit Peter! _PETER!_ Wake up! Wake _up!_ Please, just open your eyes. _Please..."_

But the hero's eyes did not open, and Peter's body was limp in his best friend's arms.

Tony was approaching the location fast, just as dawn was sweeping over Manhattan. The journey had taken long enough, but he still wasn't prepared for what he might find down there. With the reports of extensive injuries, was his teenage superhero protégé even still alive? Had Nat and Clint managed to reach him? Or were they also in trouble? Any villain who could take down Spiderman was a force to be reckoned with.

The tunnel was large enough to fit a truck, and Tony wondered why it had been so overlooked by...well, everybody? Sure, it was hard to find initially, but it wasn't exactly small. All it needed was one curious person to stumble across it.

He took a wrong turn at first, and ended up in a dead end facing a single door, just as it opened and a heavily-armed woman stepped out, holding a weapon that was clearly alien technology. Without a second thought, Iron Man blasted her into oblivion.

Perhaps he would have been more forgiving if this wasn't to do with Peter.

Inside the room were several screens showing what he assumed was live footage of a fight, but he didn't spare any time looking at them. He needed to get to the real thing.

After that he payed attention to F.R.I.D.A.Y and didn't get lost again. A minute later, he swooped onto the battlefield, blasting the three remaining bad guys (it was a good job they all dressed like that, otherwise he might not have been sure they were evil) and looking around for Peter. Nat and Clint jogged up to him, but the spider superhero was nowhere to be seen.

"Mr Stark! Over here!"

That sounded like Peter's friend, Ned. Tony was there behind the large black van in an instant, his mask lifting to reveal his face.

The words that left his mouth upon seeing Peter were probably not appropriate for fifteen-year-old ears, but they tumbled out anyway.

"He got shot," Ned's voice was quiet and unnaturally high. Tony ignored him and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"FRIDAY scan for vitals," he ordered, trying to cut out the waver in his own voice.

"Heartbeat detected. Breathing detected. Recommend immediate medical assistance."

"Any spinal injury?"

"None detected."

With infinite care, Iron Man slid his hands beneath Peter's shoulders and knees and lifted him into the air. It would take five minutes to reach the Avengers facility if he shut down all but the emergency systems and channeled the rest of the energy into propulsion. _Please let it be fast enough._

This was his fault. He hadn't been fast enough, he hadn't tried hard enough, he hadn't _cared_ enough to take the obvious precautions like installing a tracker in Peter's watch, or making him check in every few hours, or...or...

 _He's not a baby_ said a small voice in his head. _He's a teenager, and needs to be independent. You can't monitor him 24/7._

But glancing down at that ashen face, mottled with bruises and frowning slightly in pain even when unconscious, it was hard to see Spiderman as anything more than a kid, too young to experience this level of horror in the world. _Too young_ to be a superhero.

Tony had tried to stop that, once before. He wasn't about to try it again.

And if he'd learned anything from _that_ experience, what Peter did was entirely Peter's choice, and the best Tony could do was catch him when he fell.

He was still going to make that watch upgrade. If Peter reached the facility alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! I have a random unrelated question for you: in Homecoming, Michelle mentions Peter gave up band. That raises the question, what instrument does he play? Is there any indication in Marvel canon, comics or otherwise? And if you're just as clueless as me, speculate in the comments and I'll accept the most convincing argument as headcanon!


	3. Not quite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff is sorted out. Ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we come to the final page. I've never liked finishing off. I have like three more entire stories plus some drabbles unfinished in my documents, so I'll tell you about those at the end and you can express a preference of which ones I should put effort into. Thanks for reading! Now enjoy the last chapter :)
> 
> Btw, for a sense of time and day, the building collapse in the first chapter was Tuesday afternoon, Ned was kidnapped on the way home from school on Wednesday, and the rescue happened in the small hours of Thursday morning, while Tony flew through so many time zones he landed before he took off. Now it's a more reasonable time on Thursday afternoon, but everyone is zonked because. Well.
> 
> One last thing! Idk if it's clear or not, but at this point Michelle doesn't officially know about Spiderman. Whether she guesses or not, I'll let you decide.

Peter woke to a quiet, steady beeping, an ache that encompassed him from head to toe, and a familiar sound of snoring nearby. Blearily, he opened his eyes.

"How d'you feel, kid?"

"Mr Stark?" It took his eyes a second to adjust, and noticed gratefully that the lights were dimmed. He was in a room he recognised - he'd ended up here a couple of times before, but neither of those times had he been dying.

Oh shit. He had been dying. All the memories flooded back to him, and the pain of his leg and his side filtered though whatever drugs they'd put into him, and suddenly his chest was too tight. Ned! Where was Ned? What if this was a dream and he was still there? What if he was actually dead and this was the afterlife? His hands curled through the bedsheets until the blood was cut off at his wrists, and his eyes frantically scanned the room, seeing everything but comprehending nothing.

It wasn't until Stark was beside him, counting slowly and telling him to breathe, that Peter realised he had been hyperventilating. He could practically feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. Ouch, his ribs were sore. Peter breathed.

Finally Stark stopped counting. "Christ, kid. Next time you feel like nearly killing yourself, at least put the suit on first. And stay in phone signal range. I've aged another fifty years in the past twelve hours."

"You're in Europe?"

"I _was_ in Europe. Until some son of a bitch thought kidnapping you was a good idea."

"Where's Ned?"

"Asleep over there. And your Aunt is on the couch next door. I can let her know you're awake if-"

"No, wait," Peter cut in as Tony moved to leave. He didn't want to hold up Mr Stark, but he also didn't think he could face May yet. The guilt was already welling up inside him. Tony gave him a quizzical look. "I just...I'm sorry," was what he resorted to, looking away. He had caused the Iron Man enough trouble already. His leg throbbed.

"What the hell for, Peter?" Tony said sharply, striding back to the bed and glaring down at the teenager hard enough to make him wince. "Sorry," the billionaire softened his expression, and sat down. "Listen, I got the whole story from Ned before he fell asleep in that chair. What you did? It's exactly what I would have done in your position. And I'm not saying that's always a good thing, because it definitely isn't, but in this case I can't fault you one bit. Perhaps if you'd hung back and got help, things would have turned out better, and you wouldn't have nearly bled out twice. But I won't lie, kid, if you hadn't been there they wouldn't have hesitated to hurt Ned for information on you. They're just that kind of people. So whatever else you did, you saved him that, and that's not nothing."

Silence descended after that, as Peter took in the meaning of the words. Eventually he allowed himself a tentative half-smile, saying quietly, "Thank you, Mr Stark."

"It's nothing, kid. So, do you want me to send your aunt in or...?" Tony got up again and made his way towards the door.

"Um...yeah, okay," Peter replied hesitantly. "Thank you."

"Oh, and I should probably say, if it hadn't been for her, I might not have reached you at all. She is a force to be reckoned with."

Now Peter really smiled. "Yeah, she is."

Friday (the day, not the A.I.) passed at the Avengers institute, and when Peter was deemed well enough to go about in a wheelchair he showed Ned the labs which he himself had visited only a few times before, and they filled the whole day with tinkering and experimenting with the equipment that Mr Stark was good enough to let them loose on. The condition was that if they broke anything important then they'd have to fix it, which was fine by them, but they stayed away from anything that looked explosive.

At about two in the afternoon, when they found their way to the kitchen for lunch, they were surprised to find their bags waiting for them, and even Ned's phone which had been dug out from the back of the taxi.

"We went back and searched the whole facility," Hawkeye explained through a sandwich, "cleared out everything. Don't know what's happening to it next, but we're keeping an eye on it for now."

Peter was mostly glad to get his suit back. Losing that would have been super embarrassing, especially when he hadn't even been wearing it. As he was checking though the rest of his bag, he heard a groan from Ned.

"Ugh, Peter, have you checked your messages?"

Peter's phone was still turning on, so he shook his head.

"It's MJ," Ned clarified, "she's sent, like, fifty texts."

"Has she heard our cover story?" He was referring to the tale Aunt May had fed to the school to cover their absence. A slightly different and more truthful story had been told to Ned's parents, but the entire series of events was being kept secret for several reasons. Tony had already gone after anyone with footage of Peter surfing a taxi through New York.

"Everyone has, but she still wants us at decathlon practice after school today, at her house. I've told her it's not happening."

"Thanks, man." Peter had prepared himself mentally for school on Monday, and seeing people before then was not part of the plan.

On Saturday morning they parted ways, May dropping Ned back at his house, where his parents were anxiously waiting, before heading home with Peter. They spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch watching bad movies and eating pizza.

Sunday was spent catching up on school work from Thursday and Friday. More than once Peter found himself losing focus and gazing out the window, imagining himself swinging through the city and fighting crime again. He had expressed a concern to Tony Stark, just before leaving, about Spiderman's absence in the city for the next week, but the Iron Man had told him not to worry about it, and that he'd got it covered. Peter still wondered what that meant. Eventually he gave up and flicked on the news.

_"Recently the Iron Man had been seen flying through the streets of New York, and reports are coming in all over the city of petty criminals coming face to face with none other than Tony Stark, however on every crime scene the suit has been absent. Concern has been expressed as to how this bears on the Sokovia accords, however experts are saying that unless violence is witnessed involving the Iron Man suit, these occurrences are completely out of UN jurisdiction. So far, there have been no injuries and many people are sending their thanks to Tony Stark, however this raises the question: where is Spiderman? Our masked superhero has not been seen since Stark abruptly returned from Europe, and rumours are spreading that these two incidents might not be coincidence. What are your thoughts? More at three. Back to you, Allen."_

Peter hit the off button, and the TV fizzled out as he sat back and grinned. A friendly neighbourhood Iron Man: not something he thought he'd ever see. It was really adding up, the number of things he owed Tony for, but this just might be the biggest of the lot.

On Monday, Peter waited for Ned just out of sight of the front of school. It had been Peter's idea, but the rapidity of Ned's response suggested that his man in the chair was still a bit shaken up too. In all honesty, Peter was worried about Ned. While Spiderman went out and faced bad guys most days of the week, being captured and almost dying had been a different experience altogether and the memories, in the form of vivid and terrifying flashbacks, had visited him every night since. To Ned, a guy who preferred a screen between him and the action even if he was Peter's right hand man, the ordeal had to be nothing short of horrifying. If Peter wasn't okay, there was no way that Ned was either.

"Hey doofus." MJ rounded the corner, taking a good look at Peter, crutches, cast and all. "You look like shit."

"Hey MJ."

She leaned casually against a wall. "So, what'cha lurking round here for? Is your drug dealer late?"

"What the fu- no! No, I'm waiting for Ned!"

"Hmm." She started picking at her nails.

"Um...thanks for passing on the homework, by the way."

"..."

Peter just stood for a minute in awkward silence while Michelle pulled out a sharpie and started drawing something on her hand. They were saved when Ned finally showed up, breathing hard as if he had been running late, the bruise over his eye faded to a shadow.

"Hey Peter, sorry I'm late. Hey MJ. Wanna go?"

They walked into school together, MJ still carrying the sharpie in her hand, and Peter could smell the solvent evaporating off it. They slowed down at the stairs, on account of Peter's leg, and received stares all around. Apparently the whole school knew by now about the "hit and run accident." Not that it was particularly the subject of gossip any more, MJ informed them. It had been popular for about a day, before more exciting things stole the spotlight.

"Stuff like what?" Ned asked outside the lockers, before their question was answered by someone else's loud conversation.

_"Have you heard? Spiderman's dead!"_

_"No way! How?"_

_"No one knows for sure. But_ I _heard that he was killed when he was trying to get people out of a collapsing building."_

_"Not that one last Tuesday? There was footage of him swinging away from that, you must have heard wrong."_

_"I heard it was actually Tony Stark."_

_"What?"_

_"Well, you know all the good press Spiderman's been getting? Tony Stark was jealous, so he killed Spiderman and took over his job."_

_"That's ridiculous."_

_"Well, it's just what I heard."_

_"You know, I think it's more likely that he's not dead at all. I think he faked it, and a year from now he'll turn up again but as a villain."_

_"You've been watching too many TV shows. People just don't do that. He was probably killed in a freak accident, there's no way Spiderman would lose a fight. Perhaps he wasn't even Spiderman when it happened, and that's why we haven't heard about it!"_

_"You think Spiderman has, like, a normal human life? Imagine him just turning up to work with a briefcase like, hi! I'm Spiderman!"_

_"Shut up Emma, he wouldn't say that. Besides, how does that even work? Superhero by night and regular guy by day? I've read enough comics, it never goes well. The girlfriend always ends up dying or something."_

_"Do you think he has a girlfriend? Do you think she knows?"_

Peter tuned out at that point, grabbing Ned and pointedly starting to walk (or hobble) towards class. MJ hopped to catch up.

"Well, now you know what the school's been talking about," she said.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Fascinating." He had to admit, there was some comfort in hearing people question whether he was alive and being able to answer in his head "not yet". Still, he didn't think he'd ever feel entirely comfortable with the Spiderman gossip.

Class seemed to drag on forever. Flash was his usual annoying self, making remarks about Peter's "accident", but before Peter could even think of a response Ned was on his feet, glaring down the bully and threatening him never to pick on Peter ever again. At that point, the teacher stepped in, but anyone could see that Flash was unusually ruffled, and maybe even slightly intimidated.

"Wow, man. I don't think I've ever seen you that angry," Peter whispered as his friend sat back down.

"You shouldn't have to deal with him saying stuff like that," Ned growled back, his eyes still glowering.

Surprisingly, Flash was quiet towards them for the rest of the day. Perhaps it had been Ned's outburst, or perhaps there was something darker that surrounded the two boys and drove people away. Even MJ didn't push for answers at lunch. Decathlon practice was a subdued affair. At the end of the day Peter and Ned went their separate ways, but not before promising to text as soon as they reached their respective homes.

Just after three o'clock the next morning, Peter woke in a cold sweat, real and phantom pains running up and down his leg. Blearily he reached for his phone and pressed the home button. The screen lit up, blindingly bright in the dark room, displaying ten new messages and a missed video call from Ned, sent less than half an hour ago.

_Hey_

_Just checking in_

_You're probably not awake anyway_

_If you see these, message back?_

Ned Leeds tried to video call you at 02:42 

_oops sorry pressed the wrong button_

_You should hang your mask in the corner of your room so I can hack into Karen and check you're alive_

_Except that would be kinda stalkerish_

_Sorry_

_I'm tired_

_message back?_

Guilt churning at the thought of Ned awake at this time, probably suffering the same kind of nightmares, Peter hastily typed a reply.

_hey_

_Is everything ok?_

He paused, considering whether to send the next message. He didn't want to press it, but on the other hand, they had to share this stuff with each other because there was no one else who would understand.

_is it nightmares?_

The symbol that Ned was typing popped up before Peter could send another message.

Ned: everything's fine

Ned: just making sure you're ok

Peter: at 3 in the mornmg

Peter: *monring

Peter: MORNING

Ned: :-/

Peter: want to talk?

Ned: maybe tomorrow

Ned: idk I'm tired

Peter: ok sleep tight

Peter: I'm turning your notification sound up so I'll hear if you want to message again at a weird time

Peter: chances are I'll be awake anyway

Peter: see you tomorrow

Ned: don't let the bed bugs bite

Ned: or you might get even weirder superpowers

Peter: haha

On Wednesday after school, Peter was picked up by Happy and driven to the Avengers institute for his check-up, final x-ray, and hopefully to pick up some upgrades for the web-slingers, which he had left with Mr Stark for the week. He wasn't sure exactly what the upgrades were for, and had a suspicion they were only taken as insurance that he wouldn't be going out crime fighting this week, but he hadn't protested since, for once, he agreed that he'd needed the time off.

Perhaps that was a testament to just how much the being-captured-and-questioned experience had shaken him.

Forty-five minutes later, Peter was sitting on a lab workbench, gingerly rotating his recently-freed ankle and watching Tony Stark fiddle with wires. It turned out that Tony had done nothing to the web shooters. Instead, he was putting the finishing touches on a wristwatch which, on the outside, looked completely normal. In fact, it was strikingly similar to the one Peter wore currently, but there were key differences.

This new wristwatch had several buttons along the side of the strap, small enough to go unnoticed and positioned where they could not be accidentally pressed. The middle one activated a setting best described as Yellow Alert. If pressed and then not deactivated within half an hour, a notification would be sent to the Avengers along with all GPS data gathered in that time. If the watch went offline within that time, for any reason, the same thing would happen. The button to the right was Red Alert, which sent an immediate notification along with location and a live audio feed of whatever was happening. Peter hoped he would never have to use that one.

The button on the left was his favourite, and the one Tony was putting the final flourishes on. When activated, a pocket on the underside of the watch would open and a miniature web-slinger would spring into the palm of his hand, with a half-capsule of web fluid at his disposal. Peter also hoped he wouldn't have the cause to use this one, but on the other hand it was _so awesome!_ Ned would totally freak out.

At the thought of Ned, he suddenly remembered what he wanted to talk about, before Tony went back to Europe to sort out the stuff he'd been doing over there. If it had just been Peter, he might have let it go and dealt with it, but he knew that Ned's nightmares were no closer to going away as his own, and he had to ask _someone_ who had more worldly experience, and also knew the whole story.

"Tony?" The name still felt weird in his mouth, but he was getting better at using it instead of "Mr Stark."

"Yeah?" Tony paused in his work.

"Did you ever get nightmares?"

Now Stark really looked up, his gaze boring into Peter. "You used the past tense, there, kid."

"You mean...you still..."

"Yep, believe me if there was a way to get rid of them I'd have found it by now. It's just something you gotta live with." At Peter's stricken face he put down his tools with a clatter. "Shit. I'm not really helping here. Look, when you choose this life, bad things happen to you eventually. You're not going to forget them in a hurry, and sometimes that keeps you up at night. But if it makes you feel any better, it happens to everyone."

"Everyone?" Peter was sceptical.

"I know for a fact that every Avenger gets nightmares of some sort. Well, maybe not Vision, but I'm not sure he even sleeps. The point is, it comes with the job."

"Does it ever get better?"

"Depends. Each individual nightmare fades with time, but they only really stop to be replaced with a new one. Are you telling me that you didn't get nightmares before this?"

Peter hung his head as he remembered Toomes, flying through the air, the cold of the Hudson all around him, the crushing pressure of a collapsed building driving the air from his lungs. "No. But Ned..."

"Ah. Ned." Tony nodded as he put the pieces together. "In all honesty, I hope he never forgets this."

Peter looked appalled, but Stark held up a hand.

"I hope he never forgets it, because that means that nothing worse will replace it. But in the meantime, he has you. Talking to a friend helps, as does keeping busy, but not so busy that you drown out the pain. Just accept it. Believe me, I went though it the hard way, but you can do it the easy way - not that any way is easy, it just might not take ten years."

It was then that the stunning realisation hit Peter. Tony _had_ been through this, right down to the getting-captured-and-almost-dying part. Peter had been just a kid at the time so of course he didn't remember it in the news, but he should have remembered from what he knew of Stark anyway.

As awful as it was, the knowledge felt somehow comforting. Peter nodded slowly. "Thanks, Mr Sta- Tony."

The Iron Man patted Peter's shoulder in solidarity. "You're a good kid, Parker. Take it easy tonight."

Things weren't going to go back to how they were before. But over time, perhaps they wouldn't be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for now. Excuse me while I disappear for two weeks, I have a holiday to attend to (wheee!) so I guess that means I'll see you in October? Don't go yet, I haven't done the after-credits scenes! Ok maybe they're less like after-credits and more entire 10000+ word stories in their own right...the one I have in mind to polish up next (or as much polishing up as I ever do, which you might gather is not much) is a bit of a detective story - Ned and Michelle are left following up clues after Peter's night of crime-fighting goes awry. Wow, that sounds dramatic! I also have a couple of short spideychelle fics mostly written, not that I'm any good at the romance part, but I can do the friendship bit leading up to it! So let me know what you think of those ideas. And let me know what you think of this story! As it is with so many attention-crazed writers, comments feed the muses ;) I'm sorry, we can't help it. Until we meet again, have a great fortnight!


	4. Definitely not Darth Vader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end-credits scene of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Surprise! I thought this was only going to be three chapters, but it turns out there are a few things I didn't clear up so here we are. Also this was a random idea I had floating around and I needed to put it somewhere.  
>  For those of you who offered suggestions as to what instrument Peter plays, thank you for your theories! The two contesting instruments were trombone (woo!) and saxophone (also woo!) both of which I can see Peter playing. I'm actually having a hard time deciding between them, because Peter playing jazz on a saxophone is an amazing image but also something in his personality makes me think trombone is a better fit? I know very few trombone players though so I'm not sure I'm able to give a definitive answer on this. Which is very frustrating. More arguments will be accepted in the comments ;)

"That's completely stupid, Peter."

"It's true, though, isn't it?"

Peter and Ned were sitting on the floor in Ned's room, pieces of Lego shield-generator strewn around them. The debate was one they'd had before, but it had some new meaning now.

"Look," said Ned, "if I cared about the danger, or if May cared about the danger, we'd just ditch you, ok? But we care about you more. We'd have to be, like, super selfish to put our safety above all those people you save as Spiderman. Besides, Mr Stark is trying to figure out how they found me, and if anyone can do it it's him."

"I know," Peter sighed, "but sometimes I wonder whether it would just be easier to cut myself off completely. Leave everyone I'm scared of hurting. It's like Star Wars, you know? The Jedi aren't allowed attachments, because when they do, bad stuff happens."

"Dude, you're not going to become Darth Vader," Ned informed him seriously, "and if you do start getting weird premonitions of me dying in childbirth, promise you won't go mad and kill the Avengers?"

Peter laughed slightly at that.

"Anyway," Ned continued, "the old Jedi Order was stupid. You should be, like Luke Skywalker. And I could be Han Solo."

"I dunno, I see you more as Princess Leia," Peter mused.

"That's fine, I'll take Leia," said Ned obligingly, "but then who's going to be Han?"

Peter shrugged. "We don't really have a third person on our team. Unless you count Michelle."

"You know she prefers MJ- oh my god," Ned broke off suddenly, his eyes wide. "So you have a thing for her, right?"

"I don't," muttered Peter, trying to hide his reddening face.

"Well you know who else has the initials MJ?" said Ned excitedly, not waiting for a response, "Mara Jade! In the extended universe! And she is like super awesome and I can totally imagine MJ as her, and you know what else? She ends up married to Luke! It's like destiny!"

"You know that stuff's not canon any more, right?"

"Who cares? It's not as if that version has just popped out of existence. You can still enjoy both! And _you_ should totally ask MJ-" he stopped abruptly as a radio crackle came from the corner of his room.

Frowning, Ned reached over and pulled out the modified walkie-talkie that they'd tested over a week ago and hadn't used since. A faint voice was crackling from the other end, but Peter knew his half of the system was at the bottom of his wardrobe at home. Confused and curious, they listened closer.

_"Yeah, just park it there. I'll be round in a sec. Thanks mate!"_

_"Hey, no problem. Do you want the boxes unloading or shall I wait for you?"_

_"Wait up, the boss wants to personally check for damage to the ink cartridges. You know we had that incident last week where all the paper had to be ditched."_

While Peter was no more enlightened, Ned's face suddenly showed understanding.

"There's a stationary shop just round the corner. Oh my god! I just worked it out!"

"What?" asked Peter urgently.

"How they found me! We only used these things once, right? The day before...everything."

"Yeah?"

"So someone must have either overheard us, or hacked in on purpose! It all makes sense!"

"Shit," breathed Peter as all the pieces fell into place. "But wait, if they found out who you are, how come they didn't just get my secret identity too and target me?"

Ned shrugged. "Maybe I never said your name. Maybe they tracked my location. Maybe they knew but used me as bait anyway. Does it matter now?"

Peter was silent for a moment, then replied decisively, "No. But you know what we have to do."

Ned nodded grimly, placing the walkie-talkie on the floor between him and Peter. "You may do the honours."

With great solemnity, Peter raised his fist then punched straight down through the device. It shattered, pieces flying off in all directions and merging with the Lego on the floor. Picking up what remained of the device, Ned then tossed it across the room and landed a solid goal in the bin. Peter applauded in supportive appreciation.

"There. Let's never think of that again," declared Ned

"Agreed," said Peter. "I'd better message Tony and let him know."

Grinning, Ned leaned forward and whispered, "Does that make Mr Stark Obi-wan or Yoda?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So which one is it? Obi-wan or Yoda? I've been trying to figure out this analogy for a while and I'm not sure I've found a happy answer yet, but I just had to point out the MJ thing! Star Wars nerds, I hope you're happy.  
> Check out the story I post next, which will be up hopefully by the end of the 1st of October (I did say see you in October, didn't I?) and also make me super happy and leave kudos if you haven't already. Thanks for sticking with this story to the (brief) end!


End file.
